


On My Knees and Yearning

by afterocean (afterandalasia)



Category: Ocean Series - T. Garcia, Original Work
Genre: Blindfolds, Cowgirl Position, F/M, Femdom, Gunplay, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Light Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5924229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterocean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are words they should not say, things they should not do, desires that they are not supposed to have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On My Knees and Yearning

**Author's Note:**

> AU from the planned novels. They wre not going to get this kinky, and Newell was most likely going to stay with his nice alien boyfriend.

Her fingers trail over his back, and he suppresses the urge to shiver as they do so. Bites his lip just softly. Then the fingers run up the back of his neck, forming a fist in his hair, and he feels the warmth of her skin, she's standing so close behind him. She pulls his head back to rest against her thigh, nails soft touches against his scalp, her skin warm. Unlike the still-cold metal of the gun resting against his shoulder, pointing down towards his chest.  
  
"Do you surrender?"  
  
Barely more than a murmur. He hadn't noticed the first time that he met her how soft her voice was, but he notices now with his hands behind him and a blindfold across his eyes. For a moment he says nothing, trying to hold his breath calm even as she slides the gun across his shoulder until it comes to rest just across his collarbone. He can feel the tautness of the muscle in her thigh.  
  
"Do you surrender, David?" she repeats.  
  
He licks his lips against the dryness of his mouth. "Yes."  
  
"Good."  
  
He can imagine the smirk on her lips, although he can't see her. The sweep of pink lips against her skin, porcelain against the night-sky of her hair... he shifts uncomfortably as the thought tugs at him. She notices, of course. He hears her move, then she presses against his back, her breasts against his shoulderblades, then gun now tilting upwards so that it almost brushes his chin. He's sure that she unloaded it, but there's part of him that doesn't want to be. The inside of her thighs brush against his hips as she settles close behind him, kneeling, her hair brushing against the back of his neck. Unconsciously, he tilts his head back slightly to lean into her, but in response she merely tightens the arm around his neck to hold it back. Almost uncomfortable, though the growing warmth of the gun is gone now at least. It is not tight enough to constrict his breath, but tight enough to hold him in place. A cobweb would have been tight enough.  
  
Her lips brush against his ear as she speaks. "Is this what you wanted, David?"  
  
His fingers can just touch her thighs. As he moves his hands, his fingertips brush against her skin. She doesn't stop him. "Yes."  
  
One hand sliding down his chest, the nails pressing into his skin. His back arches and he is not sure whether it is his hands or her hips that move but his fingers meet with curls and she draws in her breath seemingly between gritted teeth as he strokes the skin beneath, the dampness.  
  
"Yes, what?"  
  
He understands instinctively. "Yes, ma'am."  
  
She pulls away sharply, and for a moment he wonders if he has done something wrong, but then strong hands - roughened from weapons and fighting, but still a woman's hands, still slender-fingered with rounded nails - grab his shoulders to pull him onto his back. She unties his hands, only to pull them above his head and tie them again, this time looping the rope around the wooden bedframe instead. He gasps as the knots come against his skin, almost too tight but just bearable, then again as her teeth brush against his nipple. His fingers tighten against the rope as she continues to toy with the sensitive point of flesh, her hair brushing over his chest, her breasts just touching the base of his stomach.  
  
Then she draws back, skin leaving his entirely, and the cold air feels even colder where her lips have been touching him. He is about to call her name when the point of one finger presses down hard against his belly, just between his navel and his groin. "You know the rules," she says.  
  
Again. "Yes ma'am."  
  
There is a painful, aching silence, and without her touching him he becomes more aware of the rope against his wrists, the sheets beneath him, the cold of the air. Then without warning she straddles him, one hand on his chest pressing down against him, thighs still taut against him. For a moment he strains at the ropes as if trying to reach for her, her waist, her breasts, to draw her down to him, but then she takes him into her and it is as if he hears himself giving a soft moan. She remains silent, maddeningly silent, as she begins to rock against him, the rope and her body weight and her strength of will holding him in place as she makes her demand on him. The silence and her warmth seem to tighten around him in the uncountable time that passes, then with a sharp gasp - and no more, as if she will allow no more - he feels the clenching of muscles as she comes, and he clenches his fists so tightly that he thinks his own nails will cut into his flesh. The movement of her hips slows, but it as if a mental barrier has broken down, and as her nails stroke slowly, almost compulsively, over the skin of his chest he peaks as well, crying out her name this time.  
  
Silence. Neither of them moves for a moment, save for to draw breath. "You aren't supposed to say my name," she says finally.  
  
He manages to swallow. "No... ma'am."  
  
"You know this isn't allowed."  
  
"I know, ma'am."  
  
A momentary pause, then the nails fade and she places her palm flat against his skin. Leans down close against him, rests her head on his chest as she lets him slip out of her. The arrogance fades as she whispers into the base of his neck, showing the side of vulnerability that had turned his fear of her pride into desire. "Say it again," she says, though it is still more a command than a request.  
  
"Zairecka."  
  
"Good boy."


End file.
